A Deal With the Devil

                                    

                                          
  Frank couldn't help feeling like Octavian was the literal devil. Not only did he take his wheat to Frank in small batches so he had to put up with him more often, but he found other reasons to come over to Frank's house. "Your mill is subpar," he said one day after knocking on the door before dawn. 
                          
      Frank was still bleary-eyed with sleep and he had to shove down the urge to ram his fist into Octavian's face, breaking his arrogant expression. "You need to repair the wheel," Octavian continued, his voice as slippery as a snake. 
                          
    Frank clenched his jaw. Octavian's noise had woken his wife and grandmother. "You upset my household to tell me that?" Frank asked. "I'm working on that right now."
                          
    Octavian's lips curved into a cruel smile. "I only have your family's best interests at heart. After all, how would the old crone and puffed-up puterelle survive without you?"
                          
    Frank clenched his jaw. "My grandmother and wife are resourceful."
                          
    Octavian raised an eyebrow. "So it wouldn't bother them if you ended up rotting in jail?"
                          
    Frank blanched. He'd heard enough stories about Lord Dare's jail. Each cell was a monstrosity of its own, rich in filth and fear. "Remember what you promised," Octavian said. "When the time comes, you'll do as I say."
                          
    Frank nodded, his throat tight. "In the spring?"
                          
     Octavian's eyes glittered. "Perhaps before then."
                          
***
                          
    Frank received word from Octavian two weeks after the Twelfth Day. His shoulders slumped as he read the note, written in Octavian's tidy, neat scrawl: meet me at the well around supper time  for instructions. All day, Frank's nerves were jangled and the result was that he was more clumsy than usual. "Fai!" his grandmother said after he tipped over the bucket of water Hazel had just brought in for cleaning. "What is wrong with you? Are you an ox or a man?"
                          
    Ears as red as vermillion, Frank sputtered apologies that his grandmother talked over. Hazel bent down to sop up the water with a rag and Frank did the same. "I'll refill the bucket," he told her, unable to meet her eyes in case he saw anger there.
                          
      He grabbed the bucket and left in a hurry, almost tripping over his own feet. Face hot with shame, he trudged through the snow down to the well. He saw no sign of Octavian along the way and as he drew closer, he began to hope he wouldn't be there. 
                          
     It was so cold outside that his breath misted in front of him as he lowered the bucket. Despite the exertion from walking, he was shivering. A voice made him jump and spill the newly-filled bucket over his shoes. Frank's cheeks burned as hot as his feet were icy cold. Octavian took in the scene, his eyes glittering more cruelly than the snow that smothered the landscape. "You came," he noted. 
                          
    Frank said nothing as he squatted down to retrieve his bucket. "You'll be leaving tonight," Octavian continued.
                          
    Frank nearly lost his grip on the rope he was using to lower the bucket. "Tonight?"
                          
      "Don't act so surprised," Octavian said. "You made a bargain."
                          
    Frank gritted his teeth. "I want no part in this."
                          
     "You signed a contract," Octavian said. 
                          
      Frank's fists curled around the rope he was holding. "Leave me alone Octavian or I'll report you to the authorities."
                          
    Octavian laughed. "And why would they believe you over me? I'm better-connected."
                          
      The bucket was within sight now. Frank hoisted it up to the lip of the well, grasped it, untied the knotted rope, and turned around. "I suggest you get out of my way or I'll douse you in water."
                          
    Octavian clicked his tongue. "Not very holy, Frank. Doesn't Chiron tell us to love our neighbor as ourselves?"
                          
     "He also tells us not to steal or covet a neighbor's goods," Frank replied.
                          
    Octavian's smile was twisted. "You're the one who is purporting to be a saint — not I."
                          
      Frank's body shook his anger. "Leave me alone, Octavian."
                          
    Octavian's eyes flashed. "I'll leave you alone, but it might come to light that your pretty little wife is a murderer."
                          
     Frank threw the bucket of water on Octavian, drenching the scarecrow of a man. The air was so cold that the water began to freeze as it made contact with Octavian's clothes, making his tunic dry in stiff peaks of ice. "You have one last chance," Octavian said. "I will be leaving tonight to ambush Lord Dare's men. If you aren't at the northern edge of the village by the rocky spire at midnight, your wife is as good as dead."
                          
      "You're bluffing!" Frank said. 
                          
       "I have information that will lead Lord Dare to string her up," Octavian said. "That's if she's not burned at the stake. Are you willing to risk that?"
                          
    Frank knew his answer already, but he couldn't say it. Smiling in triumph, Octavian stalked away. Frank refilled the bucket and returned home. He picked at his dinner and barely joined in on the conversation. When Hazel kissed him, he turned away, trying to ignore the hurt that overcame her features. He laid in bed and waited until Hazel's breath grew regular with sleep. 
                          
    He got up and changed into a cloak. Octavian had threatened Hazel's life if Frank didn't show up, but what if he told Lord Dare's men what was going on? If he could capture Octavian and turn him in, then he wouldn't have to sin. 
                          
     Frank hurried to the rocky spire, his breathes coming in gasps as he tried not to slip over patches or ice or get stuck in the waist-deep patches of snow that dotted the landscape. He was grateful for the full moon as he neared the spire. He looked around. Where was Octavian? Surely it was near midnight by now?
                          
    The sound of clamoring voice fell upon his ears. "There he is!" someone shouted. 
                          
     "Seize the thief!" another yelled.
                          
      It was only as the men attacked him that Frank realized he'd walked straight into a trap.